


Tides

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, I'm Going to Hell, Sibling Incest, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has him locked in a tide, a twisted dance where it doesn’t matter which partner he ends up with for a single day, he always comes back to her one way or another. She’s drawn back to him, and she welcomes it with open arms, glad to dance again. He is repulsed, she is magnetic, and they hate with a love so wicked they know they’d be burned for it and be glad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tides

She’s sharp, all edges and corners and knives around her heart. Her body is soft, and her eyes are cold, and he thinks she likes to use them too much on him. Somehow, she always seems to find where his eyes hide, whenever he’s looking in a certain direction, she always inserts herself just in his peripheral vision and stares at him with those cruel eyes of hers. She doesn’t like it when he looks away from her.  
He thinks she’s trying to find something in him, and he doesn’t like it when she tries to analyze him so critically, try to find his cracks, but not the real ones. She looks for insecurities yes, but she never takes the easy bait, never goes in for the kill, but he can tell she wants to. She wants to say cruel things with a sneer that says she doesn’t care as much as she really does. But she does care, and she’s careful with him, but it’s so startling to see her open her mouth, and then close it. She rewrites her sentence, stops her words short, and speaks again. The mirth that comes to her eyes every single time she tries to speak of it gets choked down with malice, she knows talking of it will be too soon.  
He doesn’t understand why she would care enough to stop halfway. She had already done enough damage, opening old wounds and sewing patches in, like he’s her Frankenstein’s monster. A patchwork of missing limbs and detached tracheas and organs pulled from animals. She makes them all fit together well enough, and he can’t complain when the next time the topic comes up, he’s become numb to it. She’s exposure, tough to love, and he can’t get enough when she pulls him away from everything and tells him he’s being stupid again.  
They fight, but it’s never real fighting. They care to much, and she finds herself drawn to him whenever they’re in the same room. He has her locked in a tide, a dance so rhythmic it’s almost hypnotic. But it’s not. It’s just the regular push and pull of their relationship. He invites, she initiates, and they dance together with tongues and with words and with swords drawn but never to injure.  
She enjoys this sort of flow, but knows it can only last so long until reality catches up with them both. They’re both beautiful and doomed and made of things only imaginable when losing a sense of possibility. She’s light, but darkness, and he is reflecting that light back on her, time and time again, and she sees her effects. She doesn’t know how much damage she can do until she has something to bash herself against. And he is the perfect candidate.   
They fight like this, hitting themselves against rocks instead of hitting each other, because they know they do enough already. These never last long, their spats turning into bouts of thinly veiled concern. She always makes the first pull towards redemption, and then he is hesitant, and then she changes her mind. She is fickle and rude, and he simply watches as she falls apart to her own hands.  
They’re too close, they’re far too close.   
She wants to hold him tightly, whisper good things, be good to him, but they are too close. They’re siblings, by biology they do not fully understand, and they stay back. Taboo after taboo, line after line, they cross it all but never stop to think no one would have cared. They throw themselves outside of the relationship, spend their days away, always away.   
But they always are drawn back.  
She has him locked in a tide, a twisted dance where it doesn’t matter which partner he ends up with for a single day, he always comes back to her one way or another. She’s drawn back to him, and she welcomes it with open arms, glad to dance again. He is repulsed, she is magnetic, and they hate with a love so wicked they know they’d be burned for it and be glad.  
She wants to bite, and she wants to be violent, be bruising. But he’s soft. He’s tough yes, knows how to take punches, but the way she genuinely wants to hurt him sometimes sets off memories from when he was six, and he doesn’t like it when she bites too hard. So she doesn’t bite. She doesn’t scratch and she doesn’t hold him so tightly it bruises. She is gentle for him, softens her edges, rolls away the glass shards that decorate her seams as if they were ceremonial feathers. He doesn’t need to compliment her on them, unlike the feathers, because she knows, and she preens under the attention, attention undivided, attention unguided, and attention that draws her closer than she should ever be.  
She is fascinated with him for reasons he’ll never in a million years understand. She stares at him so much it almost gets uncomfortable. He trains himself to ignore it, to ignore her stares and her grins with too much teeth, and her eyes of deep amethyst with just a hint of deep gold in the center, that bleeds away to reveal purple, and then the black that is the ring around the color. She studies his face, and he finds her far too invested in what he’s doing, all the time. He doesn’t do anything special, anything different, but he knows she sees something worthwhile, and that does stroke what little ego he has enough to keep him from telling her to knock it off.   
She throws the word love around a lot, but he has yet to hear what she thinks love really means. And he knows she’s trying to regain some of that optimism she used to hold as a small child. She tries consistently to think positively, but he knows she doesn’t have it in her, she’s too volatile for optimism, and she’s too angry for pure joy.   
Don’t get him wrong, sometimes she is happy, she can be happy, but it’s never for long. He guesses it goes for everyone, but her moods wash away like writing in the sand. Except the minute you step on the beach, you’re blind, and you can’t tell what kind of tide will come in this time. She has tells though, and he finds himself proud for finding them. She was always saying how everyone has tells, giveaways into what they want, insight into what they’re going to do, and he’s found hers.  
She’s always looking at him, and it’s almost a window. She crinkles her nose at certain things, sometimes in disgust, and sometimes in mockery. She gives a twitch of the lips when she’s amused by something, and she grits her teeth at things that displease her. They’re all very quick, and he finds himself staring back these days.

And her eyes shine like sun when he finally does.

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahahahhaa kill me


End file.
